Logs:Remember those who are in prison, as though you were in prison with them; those who are being tortured, as though you yourselves were being tortured.
| Remember those who are in prison, as though you were in prison with them; those who are being tortured, as though you yourselves were being tortured. | |
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| Dramatis Personae | 2020-11-23 "We go wherever people need help." |
| Location | |
Out in Jersey, this house is the ghost of a building that was once cheerfully decorated and made into a home, paint faded from years of abandon and the wear on the shingles and siding. Inside, it is a little more lively, with comfortable furnishing, a decently stocked kitchen and a carpeted living room with an electric fireplace. There are still some family pictures on the sand-coloured wall, as if the previous resident left in a hurry and nobody bothered to switch them out. Heather is wearing a pair of black sweatpants, beanie and unzipped poofy jacket. Her top was likely black once as well, but it has faded into more of a dingy grey. Her purple sneakers are looking worse for wear. A duffle bag is on the ground next to her while she fiddles with a phone, configuring it using the wi-fi provided by one of the few (very quietly) safe for mutant houses in the area. It was once looked after by the Brotherhood, and while they have abandoned the place, it is now looked after by people who once benefitted from its services and is much emptier than it used to be. "Hello," says the mechanical voice on the phone. And then through several other voices, "Hello. Hello. Hello." Though not entirely empty, the house is, certainly, quiet. Its current scant handful residents have huddled in their rooms -- audible in hushed whispers, peeking out at Heather, showing no particular desire to offer greeting. It is possible that it isn't Heather herself who is the source of the reticence; her echoed hello does meet with an answer eventually. The stairs creak as Vector descends -- for all the long and macabre shadow he's cast over the country, today he's just got strong philosophy-student-in-a-coffeeshop vibes, black turtleneck and cigarette-cut jeans, round black-rimmed glasses. He blinks a little owlishly behind the glasses, tips his head slightly at Heather. "Hello." Following Vector down the stairs, Spencer is dressed somewhat randomly today in many layers, a blue hoodie unzipped over a denim shirt faded almost to white over a cheerful yellow t-shirt that reads DON'T LOOK AWAY in ink-splatter text, blue jeans with the cuffs rolled up, and old but serviceable brown hiking boots. He wears a black kippah with a red Star Wars Rebel Alliance symbol, his hair rather overgrown with a long, thin braid trailing from behind his right ear, and he carries a library book (Not Your Villain by CB Lee) under one arm. "Hello?" his echo of the two adults' words is a little uncertain. Then, much more confidently, "I'm Spencer Holland!" Heather sits up suddenly-- Very suddenly! When someone answers her greeting. She looks between the two, and says, "Hello. Heather Brown. Call me Timeslip." The voice that speaks is deep, probably much deeper than she intended, and her eyebrows furrow as she changes the voice again. "It's a new phone. I am trying to configure my voice again. My last phone got taken away." She rolls her eyes twice so that it is more obvious what gesture she is making. "Timeslip. I'm sorry about your phone." Vector's voice is soft. He sounds sincere enough. "Have you had trouble recently? Are there other supplies you need?" He moves away from the stairs, going to perch on the edge of an armchair as he watches Heather fiddle with the phone. "Vector." "Whoa! Timeslip that is such a cool name!" Spence's already wide gray eyes go even wider. "I want an awesome mutant name, but it keeps not happening everyone just calls me 'Spence'." He sounds very mournful about this. Then suddenly he's vanished from where he was hovering at the bottom of the stairs and reappears in the armchair Vector is kind of hedging on. "Sorry they took your phone. Glad you got a new one though." He's fidgeting restlessly with the book in his lap now. "You sticking around here a while? Headed for the border?" "I came up with mine when I was your age," says Heather's recorded voice. Her eyes flick quickly to where Spence suddenly appears. "You could call yourself." She pauses and furrows her eyebrows slightly, eyes flicking up to the symbol on Spence's kippah. "Hyperdrive." She turns a little more towards Vector when the same message continues. "Vector is a good name. Linear algebra is cool." She flashes a grin before it continues again. "I was in detention. Felt like forever. Even more forever than things usually feel. They took all my things. But I got broken out. Now I think I will stick around. So long as my Brothers and Sisters need help out there." "Linear algebra is good." Vector's brows dip together. Just a little. "My name didn't come from math." He rests his hands on his knees, fingers curling loosely against his jeans. "I think, right now, they all -- we all -- need whatever help we can get." He tilts his head, regarding Spencer with a great seriousness. "Dispatch," he suggests, after a pause. "To send -- as in a message, or an army. To take care of quickly." Another beat. His hands turn up, then fold together. Spence bounces up and down in his seat excitedly. "Hyperdrive," he echoes enthusiastically, "Dispatch. Holy carp those are so good can I use them both? I mean I've tried others before but they never stick I don't think people take me seriously." He hugs the book to his chest. "I'm supposed be in algebra by now I think. I don't know if it's linear or not am I missing out? I was doing distance learning but now I'm too busy." He kicks his feet idly. "Yeah, we go wherever people need help. Me and Vector. We're like. The cavalry." Heather nods slightly when Vector explains his name doesn't come from math, and then again more deeply when Spence asks about using the name that she suggested. "I think linear algebra comes later. I learned it all out of order. So maybe not. I used to tutor mathematics. If you ever want to talk about mathematics." She rubs beneath her eye and says, "I do not know where any of my friends are anymore. But I want to help. Those detention facilities were terrible. Nobody should be there." "No." Vector's agreement comes quietly. His fingers smooth down against his knees, slow and repetitive. "I'm sorry you were in them. I'm sorry anyone is in them." There's another pause. His thumb traces a seam of his pants. "How did you get out?" "I love science!" Spencer replies at once. "You need to know math for that, so -- I wanna learn it! It's just kinda hard to do school while being a rebel courier." He's very matter-of-fact about this. "Rebel dispatch!" Though he sobers quickly after this, though. "I'm sorry you can't find your friends. So many people's friends are gone. And family." His shoulders hunch in and his head dips. "They got my pa in one of those." "I was broken out. A mutant woman who walks through things. And Captain America," says Heather, nodding her head once quickly. "I stabbed a sentinel with a sentinel. But it was after I was broken out." She puts her hands on her knees and leans forward, her eyebrows furrowed. "I am sorry that your pa is in one of those." She looks between Spence and Vector. "Maybe I can help. Maybe I will find my friends. If I break more people out." "None of them are impenetrable. Not even --" Vector's eyes flick very brief to Spencer, and then down to his hands. He folds them carefully. "There are definitely people in there who need help either way. Maybe some are your friends." Considers his nails (ragged, bitten to the quick) for a moment. Looks at Heather. "Maybe you could do with a couple new friends, until you find them." "Kate! And Sam! They're great." Spencer nods. He's rocking back and forth rhythmically now. "I'm glad they got you out. Maybe..." He glances up at Vector. Back down at his book. Shakes his head. Continues shaking his head, even if his smile returns bright and friendly. "Yeah! You should hang with us!" Heather looks down at her lap again, her leg bouncing restlessly as she fidgets restlessly with her hands. She picks up her phone and taps out another message. "Even if I do not find them. People need help." She looks back up, nods firmly enough that her hair wooshes up when she does. "A couple new friends sounds like just what I need." | |
